


Shades of Me/Shades of You

by angellwings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, One Shot, Post 2.12, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: [lyatt] [post 2.12] [one shot] He keeps waiting for her to drop the news of her moving into her own place, like the dawn patrol, but she hasn't yet. She hasn't even gotten her suitcase out of his hall closet. (He's been checking, every day.) He's beginning to think—no, hope—that she plans to stay.





	Shades of Me/Shades of You

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Here's another of the prompt game fics I promised. Impulsively started this morning when I couldn't sleep. Also, please excuse any typos as this was entirely written in the Docs app on my phone, lol.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Angellwings
> 
> PS - see the end note for the prompts.
> 
> * * *

* * *

"I was mixed up in the shadows castin' over me,

Blendin' in the background of someone else's dream

Then I caught your light, then I caught your glow,

Didn't dim my shine, but you changed my tone.

Now I'm illuminated and you're all I see.

Baby, baby, you're my color,

Custom made.

Think I finally discovered,

You're my perfect shade."

-"Shade" by Maren Morris

* * *

Lucy hadn't meant to stay. He knows that. She came to his apartment in a panic because her mother's house was too big and too haunted. His own apartment had possessed at least one ghost when he first stepped through the door so he could relate. But they've mostly dealt with the house now.

It's empty and on the market. It shouldn't take more than a few days for the offers to start pouring in. It's a beautiful house in an extremely affluent neighborhood. Carol Preston kept it updated so it isn't even a fixer upper. It's a high quality, move in ready home. Some well-to-do high income person will snatch it up in a heartbeat. He knows it.

Which also means, Lucy's reasons for staying with him have all dried up. He keeps waiting for her to drop the news of her moving into her own place, like the damn dawn patrol, but she hasn't yet. Hell, she hasn't even gotten her suitcase out of his hall closet. (He's been checking, every day.)

He's beginning to think—no, _hope_ —that she plans to stay.

But he's too chickenshit to ask. He doesn't want to know if her answer is a negative one. Especially if asking might push her away. Maybe she doesn't realize she has no reason to stay with him anymore and his asking about it would be what kickstarts her leaving.

He doesn't want her to leave. He likes her right where she is.

Which, at this moment, is lying naked in his bed with one hand tucked under her chin and the other resting on his hip. Her thumb is pressed into one of the muscular dents, low on his abdomen, while the rest of her fingers fan out over his skin.

It's intimate and soft and he can't help but feel as if he doesn't deserve it.

How, in all that is good and holy in this world, does she love _him_? After everything he put her through and all the ways he mishandled their tumultuous relationship, how the _fuck_ can she feel anything besides anger or indifference toward him? He is genuinely mystified by her continued presence in his life.

He doesn't want to spook her or upset this new status quo they've found in the last few weeks. As selfish as it is, he doesn't want to give her a single moment to second guess why she's investing so much of her valuable time on _him._ So, as a result, they never really talk about what they're doing or where they're going.

They're living in the moment, taking it slow, giving what they feel a chance to breathe. It's a luxury they've never really had before.

But by now, week five of post-bunker life, he's ready to move forward. He wants to move forward with her. He wants to tell her to get her favorite pieces out of her storage unit and mix them in with his. He wants to tell her to take the second bedroom and turn it into her office so she has a place to write where he won't distract her. He _wants_ to take her Home Depot and pick out paint colors.

She complains about the bland eggshell color of his walls on alternating days and each time it's on the tip of his tongue to say "fine, let's go look at swatches", but the yellow bellied coward in him swallows the words before he can get them out.

He's ready to make a space for her in his home because, honestly, it isn't a _home_ without her. But is she ready to make that same sort of space for him? She loves him, but is she ready to blend their lives together? The only way to find out is to ask and he can't seem to do that.

Jesus, what would his Delta Force buddies think of him now? Wyatt Logan, decorated war vet, brought to his knees by a clumsy, albeit stunning, history professor. They would be laughing their _asses off_. He told them all that he would never be here again and he meant every word, at the time. But back then he never imagined someone like Lucy Preston thundering into his life, knocking down every defense he ever had.

Served him right for assuming he knew anything about life — or _fate_.

Speaking of his Delta Force buddies, today he and Lucy were verifying one random but very welcome timeline shift. While working for Denise these last few weeks, cleaning up after time travel and Rittenhouse, Wyatt had been going over their mission reports. One, in particular, had confused him.

Paris. 1927.

The names weren't what Wyatt remembered.

Particularly, one name. The name of his replacement that met his untimely end.

Sergeant Major Caleb Sullivan.

He'd stared at the name for several seconds and questioned Denise about the accuracy of the report. The report was authentic. It's his _memories_ that are different.

Denise no longer remembers Rufus and Lucy telling the two of them that Dave "Bam-Bam" Baumgardner lost his life in Paris 1927. She doesn't remember it because, in this timeline, it never happened.

Bam-Bam is alive and well in 2019. Somehow, Flynn removing Jessica from the timeline also kept Dave out of the Lifeboat.

Of course he and Lucy were skeptical about any change they couldn't see for themselves so Wyatt called him up and invited him over for lunch and the Pro Bowl on ESPN. It seemed normal, _casual,_ and not at all like he and Lucy just wanted to stare at a formerly dead man.

Dave is no longer in on the time travel secret and hasn't met Lucy so it won't be the same as the last time Lucy saw him, but they would make it work.

One glance at the clock on his nightstand tells him the time has come to get ready for the day. He decides to let Lucy sleep. He kisses her forehead and gently peels her hand off of his hip before crawling out of bed and throwing on gym shorts and a t-shirt.

His gym is just down the block, and it's become routine to run there, get in a morning workout, and then run back. He turns on the coffee maker and makes sure it starts to brew before he leaves. The smell of it will wake Lucy up long before he gets back. He's learned that Lucy Preston doesn't respond to alarm clocks but she'll sit straight up in bed the second the aroma of coffee hits her nose.

He smiles to himself as he leaves the apartment, imagining her bleary eyes and wild morning curls. He can't wait to be greeted by the sight of both when he gets back.

Damn, she really has turned him into the biggest sap, hasn't she?

He comes home, an hour later, to the sound of kitchen cabinets slamming and—for a second—thinks an intruder is raiding his home. His pulse skyrockets and his heart leaps into his throat until he hears a frustrated curse. The voice is as familiar as his own and causes his clenched fists to immediately relax.

"You okay in there, Professor?" He asks warily. She's worked up over something, that much is already clear and he hasn't even gotten a good look at her yet.

"I'm fine! Nothing to worry about! Go take your shower!" She answers as she rushes out to meet him, before he can step foot in the kitchen.

"You sure?" He asks with a skeptical quirked brow.

"Yes," she replies, moving to block his view of the room behind her. She points over his shoulder, back toward the bedroom. "Now, go. You're sweaty and it's gross."

She's up to something and they both know it, but she still looks adorably rumpled from sleep. Her hair is all over the place and her long bare legs extend out from one of his flannel button ups. She could tell him the sky is green and the grass is blue right then and he'd buy it — hook, line, and sinker.

When he's showered and dressed for the day he steps back out into the hall and the smell of baking hits him. The _pleasant_ smell of baking.

He sees why as the kitchen table comes into view. There's a basket of blueberry muffins waiting on him. They're a little battered around the sides as if they stubbornly stuck to pan, but the tops are the perfect shade of golden brown.

"Aw, Babydoll," he says with a teasing smirk. "You baked."

She's washing the last of the dishes as he reaches for one and she watches him with nervous anticipation.

"If they taste like cement then you'd better lie, Sweetheart," she says just before he takes a bite.

He rolls his eyes and swallows. Once the taste test is over he gives her a patronizing smile. Needling her is always fun. "Tastes like a blueberry muffin. You're improving."

She feigns offense and splashes soapy water at him. "How dare you."

He wipes the muffin residue off his hands with a paper towel and moves to throw it away, but Lucy steps in his path.

"I'll take that," she says as she takes the towel, barely lifts the hood of the trash can, and discards it.

He can't stop the amused grin taking over his face. She's hiding something and he's pretty sure he knows what. "How many batches did it take to get the edible ones?"

"Just one," she replies with a halfhearted glare. "And that's only because I forgot muffin cups or to grease the pan."

"So close to perfect," he says with a chuckle and a kiss to the top of her head. "I know how that bugs you."

"I'll get it right next time," she says in a determined voice as she wraps her arms around him.

"What's with the baking anyway?" He asks as he leans them both against the counter.

"Felt the urge to _do_ something," she says with a shrug. There's an unspoken conflict in her voice, but she doesn't elaborate. Even with her pressed into him, she's buzzing with energy. "What are we doing for lunch? I know Dave's coming but what are you wanting to have?"

"I was gonna use the grill on the roof for hamburgers and hotdogs. Sound good?"

"Sure," she answers. "There's none of that in your fridge, though." She pulls away from him in an instant, marching down the hall with purpose. "I'll go to the store!"

He's so shocked by the sudden movement that it takes him at least a full minute to realize she's gone. When he reaches the bedroom, she's taming her curls into a ponytail with one hand and rifling through her drawers in his dresser with the other.

"I'll just throw on a pair of leggings. Won't take but a second and then I can—"

"Lucy, time out," Wyatt says as he stops behind her and places his hands on her shoulders. "What, are you sugar personified or something? Why are you so hyper? Did you drink the whole pot of coffee I left you?" He teases, though she doesn't laugh. "You were supposed to save some for me, you know."

All movement stops and her arms fall lax at her sides. "I—I need to keep moving, Wyatt."

There's that unspoken conflict in her voice again. Her tone is full of pent up anguish. It causes a thickness in his own throat.

"Why?" He asks.

"Because when I stop I start to think," she says quietly. "And when I start to think…"

He squeezes her shoulders to encourage her to keep going, keep talking. To not shut him out.

"When I start to think, I get _angry_ ," she finishes, leaning back into him as if she's lost the energy to stand. As if admitting she feels something unpleasant is more taxing than the actual emotion.

He wraps his arms around her and rests his chin on her shoulder. When he speaks, he keeps his tone soft. "About what, Professor? Don't hold out on me now."

"If the timeline had to change one last time, why couldn't it give me Amy?" She asks as her hands come up to cover his and grip them desperately. "I—I saw Dave's body dead in a Paris street so I want to be happy he's back but...God, Wyatt, I miss my baby sister. Does that make me a horrible person? To want to trade Dave's life for Amy's?"

He turns her to face him, unprepared for the raw pain in her eyes. He feels it stabbing his heart as if it's his own. She's hurt and angry and then wrought with guilt for feeling hurt and angry.

It's a juxtaposition that he's extremely familiar with. He trails his hand over her cheek and leaves it there to soothingly run his thumb across her cheekbone.

"No, Lucy, it doesn't," he answers. "It's been just over a month since everything ended and you truly lost Amy. It's still fresh. Of course it feels unfair. It _is_ unfair. Amy had nothing to do with time travel or war. She didn't deserve to be lost to it."

"Dave didn't deserve to be lost to it either," she whispers in self reproach.

"Maybe not, but he knew the risks when he stepped inside the Lifeboat," Wyatt reminds her. "He's a soldier. He puts his life on the line all the time. Same as you or me. It makes sense to me that having him back and Amy still being gone would feel...unjust. I get that."

"I hate feeling like this," she admits as her chin starts to tremble. "I don't want to feel _this much_."

He pulls her over to the bed and lays them down on it together. This is not a conversation to have standing up. She curls into him. Her legs are gathered up overlapping with his thighs and her arms are around his middle with her face buried in his neck. He secures both arms around her, one hand rubbing calming circles on her back.

He presses his lips to the top of her head and then speaks into her coconut scented hair. "Emotions aren't rational. They don't make sense and you can't will them away. The only way to cope with them is to let yourself _feel_ them, Luce. That was my problem for a long time. I made myself stop feeling. It only made things worse. It made _me_ worse."

"You got over the hump, though," she replies, her voice clogged with tears.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he admits with a kiss through her dark tresses. "I told you once before, _you saved my life_. That will always be true. _You_ don't need saving. You save yourself, always have, but I'm here to lean on. To get you over the hump. Anytime you need me, I'm here."

"Wyatt?" She asks with a loud swallow.

"Yeah?"

"I need you."

He nods and blinks back the water gathering in his eyes. "I'm here."

With those two words, the torrent of emotions she's been hiding all morning breaks over her. He holds her through it. He lets out whispered assurances of his presence every so often. He mutters short reminders that she's been through hell and she deserves to let it out. Her feelings are valid. Her tears have been unfairly earned.

He doesn't tell her it'll all be okay. He doesn't tell her it will get better. She doesn't need any of those reminders. Besides, things may never be one hundred percent okay again. Losing someone changes you. You recover, but you're never the same.

He cries with her. Her pain is always his pain and, like it or not, he knows he's a sensitive man. Crying with her is unavoidable.

She sniffles against the wet spot on his shirt as her tears subside and places a featherlight kiss to his neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he responds. The pain in his chest eases at the sound of her voice. "Should I reschedule Dave?"

She hems and haws and he holds her tighter as a result. He knows exactly what that means.

"It's okay if you're not okay with seeing him," he assures her. "It's _okay_ if you need more time. You don't have to wear a brave face all the time, ma'am."

"I could leave for the afternoon," she offers. "Let you guys hang out."

He shakes his head and speaks firmly. "No, not an option. This is your home too. I'm not kicking you out of it."

He feels her faint smile pressed into his neck. It's gratifying after she's spent the morning crying. "My home too?"

"My closet and my drawers are already half yours," he replies with a smirk. "So, is that really a surprise to you?"

He hears a soggy chuckle, muffled against his skin. Her voice is deeper than normal, a result of too much crying. "I've been waiting for you to ask me to stay. I—I wasn't sure what the rules were in this situation. Didn't know if I could bring it up."

Relief floods his entire body. All this time he's been stressing about it, she's been waiting on him.

"Stay," he pleads on an exhale. "Move in. Decorate. Do whatever the hell you want to do to the place. Just stay with me. This place isn't a home without you in it."

Before she can answer, his phone rings from the pocket of his jeans. He gives her an apologetic look and then glances at the screen. His brow furrows. "It's Dave. I should take this." He untangles himself from her but not before kissing her lips softly. "Press pause on this conversation, okay? I wanna finish it."

She nods but says nothing. Surely, after what she admitted, she'll say yes, won't she?

"Hey, Bam-Bam," Wyatt says as he makes his way from the bedroom to the living room. "What's up?"

"I hate to do this last minute, brother, but I can't make it."

"Don't worry about it. I was about to call and reschedule too. Lucy's a little under the weather." Not a lie, not exactly the truth.

"Yeah, must be a bug or something. My sister's sick so I gotta take my nephew to his ball game. We'll definitely have to pick another weekend though. I need to meet this Lucy you keep talking about."

He had met her. Once. He simply doesn't remember. Or more accurately, only Wyatt, Lucy, Rufus, and Jiya remember.

God, time travel would never stop being weird.

"So, are you guys dating or…? I mean, what's the story there?" Dave asks. "You drop off the face of the earth for a while and then resurface with a new job and _Lucy_. She came out of nowhere, man."

"It's definitely something more than dating," he answers with a crooked smile. "And she definitely came out of nowhere. Took me by complete surprise. But I'm not letting go. I'm leaning into it."

"Good for you, Logan. I'm happy for you," Dave says brightly. "I can't wait to meet her and tell her a hell of a lot of embarrassing stories about you. I'll call you later to pick another day."

"I don't know. If you plan to bust my balls the entire time, maybe we shouldn't," Wyatt replies with a laugh.

Dave chuckles. "Hey, I'm just looking out for her. Gotta make sure she knows what she's getting into. Later, bro."

"Later, man."

He pockets his phone and when he turns to head back to the bedroom, he finds Lucy dressed in jeans, a cardigan, and a t-shirt with her purse slung over her shoulder. She tosses his leather jacket at him with a mischievous smirk.

"We're repainting the apartment and going to the hardware store together to pick out color swatches." She saunters passed him, picks up his car keys from the dish on the counter and throws those at him too. "I'm not moving any furniture in until _after_ we paint."

He blinks and stares at her with his mouth agape. _What_? A silent beat and then. " _Now_?"

"No time like the present, Soldier."

The shock fades, replaced with joy, and the smiles they share could light the room for days. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am."

No time like the present, indeed, and they aren't wasting another single moment of it.

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
>  **A/N:** List of prompts used:
> 
> -"Are you sugar personified or something?" (I hated this prompt so I had to make it not sappy. Not even awkward flirt Wyatt would use that line)
> 
> -"So, are you guys dating or?"
> 
> -"We're repainting the apartment and going to the hardware store together to pick out color swatches."


End file.
